


The Tree is Still Up

by abluevixen (knightofbows)



Series: | January 2016 Prompt Challenge | [26]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6253747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightofbows/pseuds/abluevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles returns home after running away with Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tree is Still Up

**Author's Note:**

> Another continuation! This time from Prompt 1: [Unopened](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6048967).

Stiles shuffled through the kitchen in a fog, only vaguely implementing enough situational awareness to successfully make a pot of coffee. The process included scattered grounds, splashes of water, and the clank of a mug hitting the counter a little too hard.

When he hunched his shoulders and leaned over the counter on his elbows, his back and hips pulled deliciously at sex-tired muscles and kiss-bruised skin. He groaned, smirking though there was no one to see—he couldn’t be happier, and pressed his fingertips into a dark, aching hickey on his clavicle.

The last few weeks were a blur. Stiles could remember the basics—Derek had showed up New Year’s Day, unexpectedly, and kissed him after nearly seven years of silence and absence. It fulfilled Stiles’ every need and desire since their summer fling, back when Stiles was seventeen. After approximately half a heartbeat, he took Derek up on his offer for them to get out of town together, so he packed a bag and followed the werewolf downstairs to the Camaro, their fingers laced.

For weeks, they drove, stopping at a diner here, a motel there, switching seats when one of them grew tired. On a lonely straight-away through the desert, Derek let Stiles open up the Camaro’s engine with the windows down, and they laughed together through the rush. Once the sun had set, they pulled over and watched the stars, drawing constellations with pointed fingers and matching smiles. The east coast had brought with it an aching familiarity for Derek, Stiles reading his eyes like a beloved book, but he spared no expense to give Stiles experiences. Nice hotels and fine restaurants, hole-in-the-wall dives with the best food. They drove south for day at the beach.

Derek relearned Stiles, the boy he was still very much visible beneath the man he’d become; and Stiles fell in love with Derek all over again, past blending with present in a cherished, relished, exciting overlay. Reverent touches gave way to passionate grips, and appreciation evolved into adoration. It was healing and revelation and a first step and Stiles couldn’t imagine a better way to start a new year.

“Hey,” rasped a rough voice. Stiles turned to find Derek padding towards him in nothing but his underwear, looking just as in need of more sleep as Stiles felt. With his head down and a hand rubbing at his eyes, Derek somehow managed not to bump into anything in his beeline for Stiles. He tucked his face beneath Stiles’ jaw without preamble, wrapping his arms tight around Stiles’ waist and pressing against every inch of bared flesh he could. He breathed deep and dragged his warm, damp lips against Stiles’ skin, causing him to shamelessly shiver.

“Morning, handsome,” Stiles mumbled, draping his arms over Derek’s shoulders. He scratched lightly at the nape of Derek’s neck, nosing into the wild tufts of his bedhead. “You sleep okay?”

“Your bed’s small,” Derek mumbled.

The wolf’s skin was sleep-warm where they touched, inviting and making Stiles’ limbs heavy. The counter at his back was a block of ice in comparison. He wanted nothing more than to lead Derek back into his room and abandon all thought of the morning. “Sorry,” he answered. “Haven’t needed anything bigger until recently.” Presumptuous and bold, Stiles unashamedly entertained thoughts of _forever_ and _always_.

Derek hummed, then started mouthing up the column of Stiles’ throat. He nibbled his earlobe as he breathed, “Smells like you, though, so it’s alright.”

Stiles’ spine bowed where Derek leaned in, head back and neck bared. His breath stuttered when Derek’s thigh brushed his fattening cock, thin sweatpants hardly dampening the heat of Derek’s touch. His laugh trembled, just as shivery as the rest of him. “Jesus, Der,” he chided. “Scott and I have an agreement about the kitchen.”

“I haven’t done anything,” Derek said, the lilt in his voice pleading innocence while the hands sliding around Stiles’ hips to grab his ass were anything but.

“Yet,” Stiles added. He sucked a sudden breath when Derek pressed their hips together and the line of his cock rubbed against Stiles’ own.

“Yet,” Derek purred.

Stiles threaded his fingers through Derek’s hair and yanked the wolf’s mouth from his throat. His lips were red, slick with spit, and his pupils were blown so wide, only the barest sliver of his jewel-hued iris remained. Most of his dominant posturing bled from the set of his jaw when Stiles grabbed him, instead, succumbing to whatever it was that grew between them—the push and pull, the _trust_. Something twisted in Stiles’ gut. He whined Derek’s name, then cupped his face with both hands and smashed their mouths together in a desperate, hungry kiss.

With a soft growl, Derek hoisted him onto the edge of the counter and helped keep him balanced with the sheer bulk of his body. Good thing, too, because the cabinets hung low enough for Stiles’ to bump his head, and further back, the coffee machine still dribbled its scalding brew into the pot. His fingers inched beneath the elastic of Stiles’ sweatpants, then traced the edge around his hip before plunging his hand down the front. His grip was sure around Stiles’ aching cock, their weeks away together allowing them to grow familiar with each other’s bodies again.

“Derek,” Stiles panted between kisses. Pinned as he was, he couldn’t thrust into Derek’s hand like he wanted. All he could do was sit there precariously while Derek slowly stroked him, fingers digging helplessly into the wolf’s muscled shoulders. “Derek, _the kitchen_. Scott. We can’t—”

“I’m not doing anything,” Derek murmured, dragging his nose along Stiles’ temple, where sweat quickly gathered.

“Like hell you aren’t.”

Derek’s hand froze in Stiles’ pants, and Stiles groaned, dropping his forehead to Derek’s shoulder.

“Hi, Scotty,” Stiles mumbled.

“Damn it, Stiles,” Scott sighed. Stiles glanced up just in time to see Scott clamp a hand over his mouth and nose, his brows furrowed in some mixture of disgust and disappointment. But surprisingly, he wasn’t surprised.

Or maybe not surprising, Stiles considered. He and Derek hadn’t exactly been quiet the night before when they stumbled in, so tangled in each other they barely made it to Stiles’ bedroom without destroying everything in their path.

“On the counter? Really?”

“He’s covered,” Derek answered, and the bastard smirked over his shoulder, completely heedless to the faint crimson glow of Scott’s eyes.

“Barely,” Scott drawled. “Damn, guys, you’re literally _clouding the kitchen with lust_. What the hell? All I wanted was a cup of coffee.”

“Like you and Kira haven’t done the same thing before,” Stiles answered.

“You can’t _smell it_ , Stiles.”

“Did you really not smell us before walking in here?” Derek asked, amused.

“It hasn’t changed much since last night,” Scott muttered, his cheeks bright. “Figured you were still in the bedroom.”

Derek clicked his tongue, disappointed, but ran the tip of his nose along Stiles’ jawline. “You’re letting your assumptions cloud your senses, Scott. It’s unbecoming of an alpha.”

“Didn’t think I’d have to be hyperaware in my own apartment,” Scott growled.

“Go easy on him,” Stiles sighed, tracing the line of Derek’s almost-beard. His smirk was playful as he said, “He hasn’t scented my lust in a long time. Even longer for yours. His wolf probably didn’t know what to make of it all with how overwhelming we are.”

“You know, I was going to say I was happy for the two of you, for finally working your shit out,” Scott said, approaching them. When he stood beside Derek, he shoved the other wolf out of the way with his hip and pushed Stiles aside with his shoulder, making room for himself at the counter. “But I think I’ll be annoyed with you _practically fucking on the counter_ a while longer.” He grabbed the coffee pot and filled the mug Stiles had already pulled down from the cupboard—Stiles’ favorite—and completely ignored Stiles’ indignant squawk.

Scott flashed his brilliant, charming smile—the one that brightened his whole face—flashed his eyes until Derek’s glowed blue in return, then sauntered off into the living room.

As Stiles watched Scott’s departure, that’s when he saw it—the thing he’d been too wrapped up in Derek to notice.

There were _rules_ to Christmas decorating, goddamn it.

“What the hell?! THE TREE IS STILL UP?”

Scott laughed.

“Scott!” Stiles tried to free himself from Derek’s hold, but Derek wouldn’t let him go, too busy scenting and claiming him in front of Scott in ways Stiles would never really understand. “That’s your job! I pack up the decorations and clean up after the parties; you put everything in storage and throw away the tree. Jesus! There are probably, like, seventeen different types of mold growing on that thing!”

“What can I say?” Scott sing-songed from where he undoubtedly sat on the couch. The bastard was probably _admiring_ the decaying fir that would give Stiles hay fever for weeks. “You took off without a word. No call, no text, no note, and I smelled Derek all over the foyer. This tree might have been the last visage of our final Christmas together before you were whisked away by your one true love.”

Derek pulled away from Stiles long enough to blink wondrously at him, a little drowsy and lust-drunk. “True love?”

With a huff, Stiles kissed Derek’s grinning mouth, both because he couldn’t help it, and he wanted to postpone admitting his feelings just a few moments longer. “I waited seven years for you, dude. I think you’re it for me.”

If anything, Derek seemed relieved, as if he couldn’t smell the happiness wafting off Stiles or hear his honesty in the rhythm of his heart. “Me too,” Derek said. “That’s why I came back for you.”

“Happy New Year, Derek,” Stiles murmured.

“Happy New Year, Stiles.”

“HAPPY NEW YEAR LOVE BIRDS,” Scott crowed. “Now go fuck in your bedroom.”

Derek pulled Stiles flush against him, and Stiles automatically wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, balancing with his arms braced against Derek’s shoulders. As Derek carted him off to his bedroom, heeding the alpha’s orders, Stiles yelled, “THROW THE DAMN TREE OUT, SCOTT!”

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1: [Prompt 1: Unopened](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6048967)
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr: [foxtricks](http://foxtricks.tumblr.com/)


End file.
